


Rouse

by anonymousgratification



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 23:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousgratification/pseuds/anonymousgratification
Summary: He shouldn't; especially not thinking about him.





	Rouse

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say sorry for writing this, but, alas.  
> Dami baby has it bad.  
> Little bit of sexual exploration and self discovery or w/e.  
> Damian strikes me as someone who would feel guilty about touching himself, particularly considering the person (I imagine) he lusts over.  
> This style of writing was extremely frustrating to me, but I'm always aiming to try something new. I've edited this so many fucking times that I sort of hate it now. I hope this is the correct version out of the other 8, lol.  
> ❃  
>   
> 

Damian enters his room, locking the door as it shuts. He goes straight for the bed, collapsing over it. He just needs to rest, then he’ll get up and train. Or draw. Or read. Anything to evade the unsolicited tingling between his legs. He just needs to… focus on something else. He won’t let himself become a deviant who can’t think of anything but—

He groans, squeezing his legs together to stop the throbbing. He just needs to stop thinking about it. Think about something else. Anything else. 

He knows what sex is. Arousal. He was taught young the logistics of the act, the importance of breeding. His existence was an achievement in itself; the quintessential heir who was created for a purpose, a legacy.

He learned about these things the way he learned about everything; the vitality of the act, the reason why, the purpose.

He’s understands, but not everything. He’s read it in books and seen it on television. But, he’s _also_ seen Grayson changing before, seen him after a shower, water creeping down his body. 

Damian’s aware he’s been… frustrated. He knows that this is because of his age, his _hormones_. He cringes, hating the way it sounds. He should be able to control this like everything else he has been capable of throughout his life. 

Maybe he’s been avoiding it too long. Maybe he's reluctant because he knows _exactly_ what he wants to think about, but won't let himself.

He _wants_ to touch himself. He wants to grip himself and cum, again and again, until he’s listless. He wants to grind and rub against anything or perhaps a certain… somebody. 

But, he can’t—won’t give in. He can stop this. Prevent himself from becoming obsessed, refrain from succumbing to these hindrances; these distractions. 

Damian rolls onto his stomach, knows it’s a mistake as soon as he feels the friction. He shifts his hips against the bed. _Just once_ , he tells himself, _then he’ll get up_. 

He just can’t stop _thinking_ ; can’t stop thinking about the cause of his predicament. 

_Grayson._ Once he permits himself to think about the man he groans, pushing his face and body harder into the bed.  

He shouldn’t be… He _knows_. Shouldn’t be looking at Grayson that way, shouldn’t be thinking about him when he’s doing  _this_.

But, he can’t help it. Grayson’s so tempting and—

_ No. _

He won’t defile himself to Grayson’s image. He  _won't_.

But...

Grayson was so enticing tonight. He got a cut on his side that Damian knows will scar.

Damian was dying to watch him get undressed, to see his lesions and muscles in front of him, completely bare. He loathes himself for wanting to watch and didn’t let himself— turning his head when he saw Grayson head to the showers.

Damian busied himself until Grayson was done, telling himself it was because he had work to finish, not because he couldn’t calm down imagining Grayson naked just feet from him.

When he saw Grayson again he was shirtless, still wet from the shower. His was hair damp, drops of water trickling down his neck and chest. Damian couldn’t stop watching as Grayson walked closer, going the medical table and bandaging the laceration. His wound slightly reopened in the shower—Damian assumed; too entranced by the blood covering his abdomen. Damian felt his mouth go dry then, wanting to lick up Grayson’s body. 

He wondered what it would taste like, if he ran his tongue along the wetness. He wonders if Grayson tastes the way he smells; if it’s some divine combination of the tang of his blood and the redolence of his sweat. 

Damian pushes his tongue along his teeth, pretending he can taste Grayson, pretending he even knows what he would taste like.

Damian turns back around on the bed. He doesn’t care anymore. He needs it, needs it so bad no part of his brain is willing him to stop. He strips off his shirt and his pants, folding them and laying the clothes next to him. He leaves his underwear on, telling himself it will make it less unsavory.

He’s… flustered. Extremely so. He’s irritated that he even wants to do this, even has to. He timidly runs his hands over his chest. He traces the jagged scar there, but doesn't cogitate. It'll just remind him of Grayson again, and—

_Stop_. 

If he’s going to touch himself, he at least needs to stop thinking about _him_. 

Damian caresses his chest, curious, squeezing his nipples between his thumb and forefinger on each side. He rubs them, around them, then pinches again. He winces, but it's enthralling; the way the soreness gradually ebbs away, turning to pleasure.  

He plays with his chest, fingers touching his skin. If he can makes himself… _cum_ … without having to reach into his briefs, it would be... acceptable.

He knows it’s impossible, but he tries. Maybe will practice he’ll get it, be able to cum without having to grip himself or think about it too long. But, now the touch is just turning him on more and more, his cock aching. 

Damian imagines Grayson’s hands, strong and sturdy instead of his own. He wonders if Grayson touches his partners like this, his hands on their body wherever there's skin. Damian knows Grayson only likes women, would never even do it with a man, _especially_ not him. But he wonders, how Grayson would touch him, were he anyone else. 

Maybe Grayson could… would… want to do it with him if he could substitute him for someone, something else.

Damian tuts, feeling guilty and bad at the sudden thoughts intruding his mind. It’s not…real. He doesn’t have to pretend; doesn’t have to rationalize it. It’s just a _fantasy._

He feels embarrassed suddenly, flushing. He’s _not_ fantasizing. He’s just… He’s just…

He inhales, exhales.  _It doesn’t matter_. He just needs to hurry up and finish and move on with his life. 

He rolls back onto his stomach. He shifts his hips a bit, then a bit more, then he’s biting down into the sheets to quiet himself. 

He wants to grind against Grayson like this, against the muscles running down his chest to his groin. He wants to shove himself against him, hear the way Grayson gasps and feel his body, powerful and sculpted against his.

Damian rolls back over, dissatisfied. He runs his hand down to his underwear, grasping himself through his briefs. He touches the fabric, gets even hotter and harder when he feels the way he's leaking, dampening the material. He twitches against his hand, rubbing the outline of his cock. It feels so good—feels so good the way even a small touch is making his mind reel with how much he wants it. 

Grayson would want it too, to feel how hard Damian was for him. _Only for him_. Grayson would want to hump Damian and kiss him and show him how much better he can make it feel. 

Damian removes his hand from his person, panting. He slowly, cautiously, reaches his hand under his briefs, grasping himself. He glides down the foreskin and strokes, desperate for the stimulation. He squeezes brutally, liquid dribbling down to his hand. He wants to squeeze harder and harder until it goes away, until he forces himself to cum. 

He wonders how Grayson touches himself. If he strokes himself rough, or maybe gentle. Would he grip Damian softly, or know he likes the pain? Or would he do it gently on purpose, working him up until he begs Grayson to let him cum, to do it harder?

Damian moans, throwing his head back, his lips parting. He wants to scream, wants to beg now, in his room. Beg Grayson to touch him, to take him, to make him cum. Damian shoves down his briefs and tries to kick them off, but they dangle over one of his socks.

He wants Grayson’s approval. His permission. He wants Grayson to tell him he likes him and desires him. He wants Grayson to tell him he doesn’t imagine anyone else, hasn’t since he’s seen how much Damian’s grown up. 

Damian squeezes up his cock, twisting his hand and putting pressure below the head. He strokes back down, tightening and shifting his grip.

Grayson would touch him tenderly, hands softly caressing his body. He would treat him like something delicate, something fragile and worthy. He'd tell him how much he means to him, make him cum while he kisses him. 

Maybe Grayson would fuck him, roll him onto his back, and align himself between his legs. Maybe he kisses the sensitive skin between his thighs, spreading his legs and swallowing him down. 

Damian pushes his fingers into his mouth, pretending they are Grayson’s. 

_You’re so sexy, Damian. You look so good like this. Do you want it?_

Damian shivers, biting down on his fingers. _Yes!_   _Yes, he wants it!_

_He wants it so bad._

Grayson shoves his fingers into his mouth, silencing him. They're succulent, filling his mouth.

Or perhaps Grayson shoves something else in his mouth, something bigger, something that tastes and feels different. 

_I know what you’ve been wanting. I know you can’t think of anything but my cock._ Grayson’s face is aroused, blue eyes glinting. He rubs his cock along Damian’s cheek, and shoves it in his mouth, pulling his hair. _You’re doing so good. You want me to cum, right Dami?_

Damian whines around his fingers. He throbs and shakes, squirming around on the sheets. His mind is whirling, going from scenario to scenario.

Grayson’s hands in his hair, dragging and maneuvering Damian where he wants him. Grayson’s cock in his mouth, firm and big and pulsing. Grayson’s lips on his neck, his chest, his legs, his cock. Damian on his lap, or on his knees, or with his head shoved in the pillows. Grayson driving into him, wanting it just as bad, whispering into his ear about how good Damian feels, how no one else compares.

Damian moans, whimpers, writhes on the bed. He’s going to—

Grayson’s as desperate as he is, needing to cum. He would cum on his body—on his face or his chest or his back, or buried inside of him. Grayson would want to mark him, want to cover Damian in his cum—possessing him.

Grayson would want him orgasming, over and over, to see how much he could. Grayson would think he looks sexy, reaching his climax— would kiss and praise and love him— wouldn’t stop until he was sated and weary.

Damian whimpers into his fingers, legs spreading, hips circling. He arches and struggles on the bed, white spurting onto his stomach. He keeps stroking as he cums—keeps squeezing, keeps gripping—until his cock is pulsating, beads of liquid flowing down his cock to his abdomen. He whines, grinding up into nothing.

Damian huffs. He's _never_... Not like _that._  

He removes his fingers from his mouth, and lifts his other hand, staring at his hand stained with his... evidence. He lowers it again, grimacing. He touches the stickiness coating his abs, running his fingers through it. He brings his fingers back up to his mouth, dazed, shoving them between his lips. He’s… intrigued. He wants to know what he tastes like, what cum even _does_ taste like.

Damian laps at his fingers and swallows. It’s quite... satisfactory. The taste is palatable, or maybe it’s just because he knows whats in his mouth, and the thought alone makes him shudder, feeling aroused again. 

_Cum—in his mouth._

Damian heats, feeling like he's prickling all over. He does it again, bringing his fingers into his mouth and sucking on them. He feels foul,  _crude_ , but he's weak to stopping; cleaning himself by swallowing his own orgasm.

He starts thinking again, what Grayson’s would taste like. _Probably better._ Probably sweeter and saltier and syrupy in his mouth. Damian turns on his side, getting comfortable. He puts his fingers in his mouth again, biting down, needing the stimulation for some reason. To ground him.

_How does Grayson look when he cums?_ _How does he sound? What does he feel like?_

Damian feels like he's throbbing again, nuzzling into the bed. He can’t stop thinking about him. _Has Grayson ever touched himself here, in his room down the hall?_

Damian chastises himself _._ Hedoes _not_ need to dwell on this subject anymore. He needs to get up; go to bed. There’s _no way_ he needs to cum again.

_What if Grayson’s touching himself right now?_

Damian groans, rolling into the bed. 

_Fuck._


End file.
